Romanov
by Little Red Rose on the Valley
Summary: TRR/One-Sided Prince x MC; MC x Other. The Cordonian Royal Family is down to its last scion. Liam considers symbolism, his past and his mortality.


Liam's mother had died when he was only but a six-year-old boy. He never admitted it to anyone, but the horrible truth was that he did not really remember her. All of his 'memories' of her were things his wet-nurse and Drake's mother had told him about her.

His earliest memory, or at least the earliest recollection he is sure it _is_ a memory, has to do with the deceased queen nonetheless.

It was her funeral.

He remember the stoic face of his father on his address to the nation from the capital's main cathedral, and his breakdown as her heart was deposited at the Necropolis, as it was tradition.

He remembered Leo's pre-adolescent aloof confusion, a mask of a lost kid who was going through the loss of a cherished relative once again.

He remembered Regina's triumphant expression, her viciously gloating smile; as if living to see a day more than the woman being devolved into the ground was a victory all on its own.

And he remembered not really understanding what was going on that day, he remembered wanting to see his mother, or his father, as little comforting his company ever was. He remembered being led away from the cemetery and, close to the gates, there was this grave with a broken column on top.

He asked the nanny assigned to him that afternoon what that meant, why did someone break what seemed like such a beautiful column. She explained that it was meant to be broken, that it symbolized a youth dead with no issue, the end of a bloodline.

While it now sounds like simple concepts, to a yet-to-begin his aristocratic education, six-year-old Liam, she could be very well speaking Armenian. As it is only natural, what does not make sense is promptly forgotten. Especially amidst the depressive atmosphere that dominated those months following the wake.

In time, Liam grew up. He grew more intelligent, cultured. He developed his mild-mannered, diplomatic personality, while picking up a hero complex somewhere along the way. He made friends, he lost friends. He grew handsome, the kind of man people immediately associate with Cinderella's Prince Charming. He took on responsibilities that weren't his, just so his brother could live on the life he so coveted.

More recently, he went to America. He went to America and fell in love.

And that is when this whole thing really started, is it not? Liam doubted he would have gone to such extremes for Madeleine, or even Olivia, for that matter.

If Maxwell did not pester him and the entire royal staff and household for him to go to New York. If Maxwell did not forget to make reservations for dinner, in a most suiting manner. If Drake did not insist in going to Brooklyn to escape the blandness of aristocratic entertainment. If Tariq wore comfortable shoes and did not blister his feet so he could not walk another step and demanded to stop on that bar out of all bars in the city.

All those possibilities, all those combinations of events. In his mind, the pure serendipity of it was a proof the two of them were meant to be, that they were soulmates.

But circumstances were not kind to him. He was the monarch of a conservative, European country first and foremost. Even more than he was a living person, he often considered. And she was…

The most sectarian amongst his fellow compatriots would say she was a nobody, just some loose server from a morally bankrupt country. He hated that notion, it stirred the most primal feelings buried deep on his being. It was at least ignorant to call a nobody who was everything to a king.

Though, his father once upon a time was counted amongst them. He plotted against his own son's beloved on the filthiest way possible. He tried to frame her for cheating, he actively tried to murder everything good on the youngest's soul.

But Liam persevered. He loved her, he _knew_ her, he never once believed on the slandering campaign against her. He remained faithful to his love, he endured a despicable engagement, he agonized nights on end over the slightest of discomfort she might have felt during that time.

At the end, it all was resolved, not because of his intervention, mostly in spite of it. Her name was cleared and Constantine lived to regret his hand on the whole thing. Liam paid a steep price for his inaction, though.

A few days later, he proposed to her. He was ready to give her the moon and the stars and everything else that could catch her fancy. But the fact remained that she did not want it anymore. She did not want _him_ anymore.

She was in love with someone else. She would marry someone else.

And for a devastating season, he trailed behind the happy couple, putting on an act of pure happiness all on the while he struggled with the thought of political prison, murder for hire or suicide, if all else failed. He was miserable and alone, what he had to lose?

Finally, it had come the day. They were married by a judge on a beautiful ceremony and hosted a lavish party with the who's who of Cordonian society, all on the Crown's dime. Because he could not help not to fancy himself as the reason for her smile.

The celebratory mood was not to last. Some pathetic terrorist group who had hopes to sway his opinion in their favour abducted the bride from the reception.

They were right about one thing. Liam would do whatever it takes to take her to safety, and so he had the country's security service locating her. He gave order for them to tear down every house, to search every citizen, to torture every prisoner in the realm towards this goal.

Finally, they found her on a warehouse by the harbour. He rushed the secret service there, and he trailed the agents, to bask on the glee of seeing their skulls bleed.

He should have expected that. That the incompetent secret service that let his beloved be kidnapped on the first place would not be able to retrieve her, that they would not be able to keep himself from being abducted.

And that brings them to the present. Gun to their heads, evaluating whether they had led a satisfactory life or if their time on Earth was like sand on the wind.

The terrorists would execute them. They were kneeling on the overgrowth, in the middle of a forest, two graves already dug.

It was decided that she would be the first to go, so the hated tyrant could suffer for another moment.

Her eyes were twinkling with unshed tears, a sad and forgiving smile on her lips, a defeated slouch on her shoulders.

A loud bang and she was gone. Her scarlet blood tainting the land.

And that was it for Liam. He still breathed, he still felt the cold metal on the back of his head, but his life was already finished.

It did not matter, anyways. It would be all over soon.


End file.
